Bitter Sweet
by Eishexe
Summary: Time moves on no matter what. - Reviews appreciated. First attempt at a Robin Hood fic. - Complete for now may turn into a series of one shots or multi-chapter fiction at a later date. -


Pacing in a circle, the man has run a ditch about the fire. His hands ring each other, clasping and unclasping, as he paces on, the ditch becoming deeper. The fire pops, the forest forebodingly silent. Even the trees are still, as if they are holding their breath in anticipation. There is movement in the hut, a cry as well. He stops, his eyes flying to the door, but no one steps out. His feet return to their path around the fire.

A nudge at my elbow, and I take the newly filled tankard, nodding my thanks at one of my closest friends. Will grins, returning to his own thoughts beside me. I glance about locating the fourth and fifth members of our merry little band. They are as somber as the rest of us. Allan, his lute lying forgotten at his feet, hums something melancholy and oddly off tune. Tuck, his tankard abandoned, might seem wrapped in prayer if I didn't detect the light snoring; his hands folded neatly over his broad belly his chin resting on his chest.

"To quiet." Will mutters, sighing heavily; but making no attempt to break the stillness again.

I nod in agreement, arguing with myself if I should step up. Say something to ease the tension. No he would not wish to hear it. I had not last winter when my wife had bore our son. I down the last bit of the ale in my tankard. We've been out here half the night it seems. More movement a broken pain driven cry; that splits the night air like thunder. Tuck is startled from his sleep, nearly falling from his place; but Allan rights him quick enough. The pacing stops, my head snapping in the direction he is looking. The door remains tightly closed. His breath falls still, we all strain to hear the tiniest hint of noise. The door is pulled open a crack. He and the friar are beaconed inside. Both hurry to answer, and Will, Allan and I look after. None of us can speak and the moments beat by.

My wife emerges and urges me to her. I am at her side before I realize I am moving. She is tired, worn thin. Her face betrays the emotions that are dueling with each other; and I know without her speaking. One of them will not be with us much longer. I guide her to the fire, Will giving up his place, that she may sit beside me. I do not need to share the news with the others. The smallest shake of my wife's head, as she meets each of their gazes is enough. The silence, the un-known are enough to drive us mad.

Will takes up the matter of pacing about the fire. I wonder momentarily if the inability to remain still is inbred in them somehow. The moon travels onward, and is lost to the thick trees. How much longer will we be kept in the dark? The Friar appears at the door to the hut, and waddles his way back to his seat beside Allan. His face is sorrowful, but he does not share with us who has been lost. The door opens again, our brother's silhouette fills the door way, a small bundle in his arms. His steps are forcibly place.

"It's a girl." He mutters. Joy spreads across his face but it is so brief I nearly miss it. I watch the muscles in his jaw clench; tears build in the corners of his eyes but never break free. He is too strong for that, too stubborn. He clutches the child to his chest as he sinks to his knees. In one motion Allan, Will and I circle about him. When one hurts we all hurt.

"Well what's we gonna call her then?" Will questions, followed immediately by a painful grunt. Allan's elbow found its mark. But Will's unwitting attempt to light the mood seems to have helped. Our brother chuckles a little, a deep grunted chuckle but a chuckle all the same. A smile graces his face again as the child squirms deeper into the blanket wrapped tightly around her.

"Jo…Joana," He says it as though he is confirming it with himself, more so than us. "Her name is Joana."

"Give her to me," My wife commands, leaning down and taking the child. "The cold air's not the place for her, and she'll be wailing for nursing soon. She will spend the night with Helen."

"Come my friend," Tuck comforts as we lead him to the fire. "Have a drink, come sit by the fire and warm yourself. There is nothing to be done til the 'morrow."

He says nothing, drinks nothing. We know not how to comfort him. So we copy him; five untouched tankards at our feet. I do not know how long we sit but eventually Tuck nods off and Allan with him. Will wonders off, something about checking on the night watch; and we are left alone. The man has not moved a muscle; hasn't blinked an eye. Suddenly he lifts the ale to his lips and drinks deeply. Then he speaks. It is a quiet voice, barely discernible above the crackling of the fire. A voice I've heard him use only once before; when Jimmy had died.

"I wanted to name her Agatha, after my Mother," He sighs. "But Ana made me promise."

"It's a good name, John," I reply. "And I have no doubts the child will live up to it. Ana was as bull headed as you."

"Aye Robin that she was," An amused smile spreading across his face. "That she was…."


End file.
